


Ghosts that Linger

by traitorhero



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Slavery, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, F/M, False Identity, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traitorhero/pseuds/traitorhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surviving her betrayal of the Elder One, Calpernia finds herself faced with an uncertain future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts that Linger

She wasn’t sure why she was still alive. Calpernia drew in a shaky breath, her chest protesting the simple movement. Ignoring the tears that sprung into her eyes, she forced herself to get onto her hands and knees. She only managed to crawl another few feet before the pain in her left leg made her collapse again. The shooting pains that had wracked her body from the movement earlier had faded to a dull ache, which terrified some small part of her. Calpernia shuddered as she rolled onto her back, a hand coming up to wipe away her tears.

She had confronted him, hoping that he would deny the truths that the Inquisitor had given her. Instead he had thrown her into the last standing walls of the ruins they had met in, leaving her crumpled body there. When she had awoken, hours later by the passage of the sun, it had been to the sight of the Venatori that had accompanied her dead on the ground, their blood staining the sun-bleached stone red. She wasn’t sure if he thought her dead, or if he was toying with her like some of the crueler masters of Tevinter.

She wasn’t sure if he was wrong to think her dead. A lethargy had slowly been creeping through her, erasing the pain that had suffused her limbs. It had been an effort to crawl away from the ruins, with blank spaces where she was sure that the pain had made her pass out. Calpernia looked up through the canopy of the undergrowth, watching the last of the sunlight fade away. If the injuries that she could barely feel didn’t kill her, the night certainly would.

A rustle in the underbrush made her heart clench in fear. Dying from her injuries or exposure was something that she could deal with. An animal tearing her to pieces was something else. Calpernia moved to her side, trying to move further away, only to cry out in pain when her left leg hit a root. The bushes near her feet moved, but the shock made her pass out before she could see what it was.

It was a surprise when she woke again to the sound of a fire. She jerked in surprise, only to bite back a hiss of pain as she moved her leg.

“I wouldn’t suggest moving.”

Calpernia stilled at the suggestion, her grey eyes meeting green across the flames. The man watched her, his gaze as wary as hers, as she tried to sit up. She managed to maneuver herself into a seated position, her left leg stretched out in front of her, close enough to the fire to feel the heat of the flames. She trailed a hand over the bandages that covered it, noticing that the leg of her trousers had been cut off to allow for it to be wrapped properly. It would allow her some movement, but she wasn’t fool enough to believe that it would hold her weight if she tried to walk very far.

“Are you in pain?”

She returned her gaze to the man across the fire. He stood from his seat, his hands held out placatingly when she shuffled backwards over the bedroll she was on, but sat again when he recognized the panic on her face. His white hair flopped over his eyes, and he brushed it away impatiently. He looked as if he was waiting for her answer, and she shook her head.

“That’s good, I suppose,” he said, reaching for a stick and poking at the fire. She nodded, unsure of how to take the man’s statement.

Tossing the stick into the fire, he pulled a pack into his lap, rummaging around in it for a few moments. While he did so, she looked around the small clearing that they were in. It was unremarkable, although it gave a clear view of the early night sky. Calpernia frowned, thinking about the time before she had fallen asleep. The sound of something being broken made her look back to the man who had yet to identify himself. He held a piece of something in his hand, and tossed it across the flames to her once he was sure he had her attention.

Calpernia caught it in her lap, picking it up and looking at it for a moment before her stomach growled. She gave the man a short nod before breaking off a piece. The hardtack was something she had gotten used to while travelling, and it quickly filled her stomach. The man ate his own in silence, his eyes darting away from the fire as sounds travelled through the night. As he turned his head, she caught sight of his ears, noting their pointed shape.

“Who are you?” she asked. He looked at her again, and she fought and lost the urge to duck her head. She tore at the remaining hardtack in her hands rather than look up and meet his eyes.

“My name is Fenris,” he said. Calpernia looked up at him, her eyes skittering away just as quickly. “And you are?”

Calpernia froze, her eyes focusing on a bush off to Fenris’ right. It would be simple enough for her to tell him her name was Calpernia, but doing so rang false. The name had been bestowed upon her by Corypheus, as a promise for how they could shape the Imperium. It was as much a lie as them. Another name came to her mind, calling out to her as it had not for more than three years.

_“Flavia, come here.”_

_Flavia ran to her mother’s side, smiling at her, which her mother scowled at. The blonde-haired girl cried out in pain as her mother grabbed her arm tightly. A few of her mother’s co-workers looked on them for a moment before turning back to their own devices. Rather than taking her to the small room she shared with the other children, she dragged her out onto the streets of Minrathous._

_She had to almost run to keep up with her mother’s long steps. Even as she stumbled she was yanked back to her feet and forced onwards. As they turned onto one of the larger streets, Flavia could hear numbers being shouted out. Her mother forced her way through the press of bodies, keeping her hand tight on Flavia’s arm. As they passed out of the crowd, Flavia caught sight of a trio of redheaded elves being marched off of a platform, their chains rattling across the wooden boards. Her mother pulled her into a building before she could watch further._

_“I’ve got a young one,” her mother said, pulling her up to stand in front of a man. He looked down at her, his eyes returning to her mother’s after a moment._

_“Will it be just her, or-”_

_“Just her,” her mother said. “I’ve had no worries about my business.”_

_Flavia looked up at the man, watching as his dark eyes seemed to gleam in his sallow face. He coughed and looked her mother up and down like the men who came to see her mother and aunts, before looking at her. Flavia looked down at her dirt covered shoes rather than meet his eyes._

_“Children are harder to sell,” he said. “Are you sure, madam, that you would not prefer to wait until she’s older?”_

_“Flavia’s enough trouble as it is,” she replied. “Will you buy her or not?”_

_Flavia looked up at her mother’s words and tried to tug her arm out of her mother’s grip. Her mother looked down at her and tightened her grip._

_“Two auris,” the man said._

_“Five.”_

_“Three. I’ll be lucky to get more than that for her,”_

_“Done.”_

_“Mommy?” Flavia asked, looking between the two adults. Her mother dropped her arm, but before she could run away, the man’s clammy hand came down on her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off, but he squeezed it tightly, making tears well up in her eyes. He lead her behind the counter, ringing a bell with his other hand. Flavia watched, tears slipping down her face as opened a lockbox and drew out three gold coins and a piece of paper._

_“I don’t want the magistrate banging on my door tomorrow when you decide you want her back,” the man said, placing the three coins next to the paper._

_“I never wanted her,” her mother said, signing the paper. She took the three coins and weighed them in her hands for a moment before nodding. “She cost me eight years of my youth. I could have been a mistress to the Archon by now.”_

_“Of course, madam,” the man said, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Good day.”_

_Flavia began to cry in earnest as her mother left the shop. The man sighed, but kept his hold on her as she tried to run to the door._

Calpernia shook her head slightly to dispel the memory. She cast about for another name, any name other than the two that had been given to her by people who had betrayed her. Fenris seemed to see her desperation and was watching her carefully. Calpernia struggled to put on the stoic face that she had been taught as a slave, only to stop in surprise when he spoke again.

“It is fine if you do not wish to tell me,” he said. “Maker knows you have no reason to trust me.”

Calpernia opened her mouth to deny it, but closed it again when he raised a hand. She looked down at her hands, twining her fingers together on her lap. She thought over every name that came to mind, disregarding the ones that tied too closely to Tevinter history. Fenris got up again, slowly so as not to disturb her. Calpernia watched him as he came over, his eyes on hers as he knelt down next to her.

As he prodded her leg, Calpernia noticed the markings on his skin. Across the fire they had not been as noticeable, covered as they were by his clothing. She bit back a hiss as he adjusted the position of her leg, settling for gripping the grass next to the bedroll.

“My apologies,” he said, “ but I must make sure that it is set right. Tell me if it is too painful.”

“It’s fine,” Calpernia said. She said nothing as he sat back on his heels, his inspection of her leg done. “It doesn’t hurt as much.”

“I have healing potions, should you require them,” he replied. She nodded, her eyes falling to her hands again. She heard him get up again, and glanced out of the corner of her eyes to see him walking around the edge of the campsite. Calpernia frowned, peering through the flames to where he had been sitting, expecting to see another bedroll. When she didn’t see one, she looked down at the one she was sitting on.

Fenris turned around as she tried to stand, confusion evident in his expression. Seeing what she intended to do, he came over and pushed her back onto the bedroll, an annoyed expression crossing his face.

“What are you doing?”

“How long have I been taking your bedroll?” Calpernia asked instead of responding to his question.

“Since I found you,” he said with a huff.

“I don’t-”

“You’re injured,” he told her, cutting off her rebuttal. “I have dealt with far worse sleeping conditions than dirt.”

Calpernia shook her head, unable to understand why he was being so kind to her. “I’m a slave from Tevinter,” she said. Fenris shrugged, as if the mention of the South’s most hated nation meant nothing to him. “Why do you care about what happens to me?”

“Tevinter was once my home as well,” he said with another shrug of his shoulders. “And my standing was no different from yours.”

Calpernia narrowed her eyes at his confession, puzzling through the implications of what he said. Her eyes dropped to the markings - tattoos, perhaps? - and rubbed her own arms. If Fenris noticed, he made no comment. He went back around the fire, taking a seat on the ground. Calpernia pushed herself up slightly to look at him.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked again. She thought she saw him raise a pale eyebrow through the flames.

“Is there any reason why I should not?”

Calpernia let out a little huff of laughter. “I’m more trouble than I’m worth,” she told him. “I was almost dead when I passed out. And you took enough time to care for me, even though it would have been easier for you to slit my throat and give me a quick death.” When he opened his mouth, she cut him off. “And don’t say it’s because I’m a slave from Tevinter. What do you want from me?”

“You would have died,” he stated simply.

“So you saved my life because, what, you felt like it?”

“I saved your life because it is what a friend did for me,” Fenris said. “If you’re so eager to kill yourself, I’m sure you could find a cliff nearby.”

“I’m assuming your friend regretted saving you once they knew about your attitude.”Calpernia replied with a sneer.

“I am not the one being rude.”

Calpernia bit her tongue to keep from replying. In truth, she knew she was thanking him horribly for saving her life, the little that it was worth. She sighed, her chin dropping towards her chest. She raised her hands to massage her temples, noting with some interest that they had bandages on them as well, but not as extensive or immobilizing as the ones on her leg.

“My apologies,” Calpernia said. The corners of Fenris’ lips twitched up before settling into a grim line again. “What do you intend to do with me?

“You’re free to stay with me and heal,” he told her.

“If you have somewhere else to be, you can just leave me at the nearest village,” Calpernia told him. “I do not wish to trouble you.”

“I was tracking slavers,” he replied. “They’ve not moved in the past week. It has cost me nothing to make sure you lived.”

“You hunt slavers?”

He made a small noise that she barely heard over the fire, almost like a laugh. “Are you surprised?”

“A little,” she said. “Most slaves... former slaves...”

Fenris said nothing as she trailed off. Her hands moved from her temples to her head, pulling out the pins that held her hair up. Her braids fell down her back, and she pulled them over her shoulder. She looked into the flames as she unbraided them, her fingers raking through the blonde hair.

“Does it help?” she asked, finally. Fenris tilted his head slightly, but nodded. Calpernia took a deep breath, taking one of the leather ties she had used to bind her braids and tying her hair in a simple plait, ignoring the slight pain her fingers gave her as she wove it. Tossing it over her shoulder, she looked across the flames at him again.

“You can call me Vesma,” she told him.

“Not your real name, I take it.”

“I’m not sure I have one of those,” Calpernia replied. “The only people who have ever named me thought of me as property.”

“You’re not property.”

Calpernia didn’t say anything, only giving him a tight smile as she laid down again.

* * *

_Surprising everyone, even the slave trader, Flavia is bought a scarce two weeks after her mother sold her. She and an one of the older women had been out buying some ingredients for the slave trader, her master, and had detoured across one of the major streets to get to the only shop that sold Orlesian herbs in the Merchant’s Quarter. The older woman had been kind to her, letting her call her Auntie, like she had the women who worked with her mother, and was teaching her what she could and could not do as a slave._

_Auntie had left her outside the shop, telling her to stay quiet and out of the way while she picked up the herbs. It wasn’t hard for her to do. A few of the people who walked past stared at her oddly, but she simply continued to stand next to the corner of the shop, like a slave was supposed to. Auntie had told her that was where she was supposed to stay unless her master had need of her inside a shop._

_“Lavinia?”_

_Flavia continued to look at her feet, scuffing the dirt between the cobblestones with the toe of her shoe. The herb seller hadn’t sent a slave to sweep outside his shop that day, she was certain. Her master had her sweep outside his trading post everyday, and wipe down the door every third day. It had been her first job, and easier than what he had some of the other new slaves did._

_“Lavinia?”_

_Flavia looked up out of the corner of her eye, watching as a man with a staff strapped across his back walked towards her. She ducked her head again, pressing her back flat against the stone of the herb sellers, hoping that he would pass her by as he searched for Lavinia. Auntie’s hand on her shoulder made her look up at the older woman, and she tried to school her face into the blank mask that she had been working at. Auntie gave her a slight nod, only for her eyes to widen slightly when a hand came down on Flavia’s shoulder._

_“Lavinia, you shouldn’t wander-”_

_The mage seemed to finally take in Auntie’s appearance, his hand gently forcing Flavia to turn. She looked down, scared to look him in the face. He released her shoulder, his fingers going under her chin and forcing her to look up at him. Blue eyes stared into hers, and she fought the urge to look away as he examined her. He dropped his hand, allowing her to look back down at the cobblestone street._

_“Where is your master?” the mage asked Auntie._

_Auntie placed a hand on Flavia’s shoulder before answering. “Master Karahalios is at his shop, in the Dock District.”_

_“Lead me to him,” the mage commanded. Auntie dipped into a short bow, her hand seeking Flavia’s and clasping it as they led the mage to their master._

_Flavia couldn’t help but look back at the man a few times as they walked down towards the docks. He seemed unconcerned as he followed them, but she saw the way his fingers drummed on his thigh and the glances he sent towards her. He looked at her like Auntie had when Master Karahalios had given her over to her care, but there was something different in his._

_Their master was sitting at the counter when they walked in. He swept into a bow when he saw the company they had brought, his eyes calculating. Auntie gave him a short bow, her hand tight on Flavia’s as she lead her past him, toward the door that led to the living quarters._

_“I want to buy that girl,” the mage said before they could leave the room. Master Karahalios held up a hand, stalling Auntie._

_“Flavia,” Master Karahalios said, gesturing her forward. Flavia let go of Auntie’s hand and stepped between the two men, dipping into a low curtsy before the mage._

_“How old is she?”_

_“Eight years,” her master replied. “Recently sold to me. She’s fairly trained in household chores, and hasn’t tried to run away yet.”_

_“Ten auris,” the mage said. Master Karahalios let out a small noise, which made Flavia turn her head to look at him. He was staring at the mage like he was insane._

_“That is a very generous-”_

_“Another three for the woman with her,” the mage continued._

_“Thirteen auris,” Master Karahalios said, as if unsure that he had heard correctly. The mage nodded, pulling a pouch out from under his robes. Master Karahalios gestured to the counter, waving Auntie to collect her._

_Auntie said nothing as Flavia pressed herself tightly to her, her hand stroking Flavia’s blonde hair absentmindedly. They both watched as the mage counted out the thirteen gold coins, and the way that Master Karahalios tested each with his knife. Satisfied, he bent down and opened his lockbox, pulling out a sheaf of papers. He flipped through them, pulling out two and putting the rest back and withdrawing a quill and inkpot. He signed the papers before offering the quill to the mage._

_“Magister Erasthenes,” Master Karahalios said, reading the signature, “it has been my pleasure to do business with you. Would you like me to send them to you later tonight?”_

_“I will take them with me now. I doubt there is anything that they will need to take with them.”_

_“Of course.”_

_Magister Erasthenes looked at her and Auntie, tucking the papers inside his robes. He signaled them to follow him out of the trading post, and they fell into step a foot behind him. As they walked out of the Dock District he slowed, until they almost ran into his back. Auntie jumped back, tugging Flavia with her, and bowed her head as he turned around to look at them._

_“If you would walk beside me, I would like to discuss matters with you,” he said. Auntie stepped forward timidly, her knuckles white around Flavia’s hand._

_“What would you wish to know, Magister?” Auntie asked as he began to walk again._

_“Are either of you educated?”_

_“No, Magister,” she replied for both of them. Magister Erasthenes grunted with a nod of his head._

_“I’ll have Tacitus begin your letters on the morrow, then,” he said, almost to himself. “You worked mainly in the kitchens, did you not?” he addressed her._

_“Yes, Magister.”_

_“You have a grasp of herbs and their uses?”_

_“Yes, Magister.”_

_“Good, good,” he said. His eyes went to Flavia, and he stopped to stoop to her height. “And what was your job, Flavia?” he asked._

_“I clean,” she said._

_“Well, I have a different job in mind for you, if you’d like?”_

_Flavia could feel Auntie stiffen behind her. She nodded her head, wondering if he would make her work in the kitchens like Auntie._

_“Would you like to be my research assistant?” he asked. He seemed to see the confusion on her face, and reached a hand up to muss her hair with a chuckle. “I work with books,” he told her. “Very old books. And I need assistants to help me. Unfortunately, most of the other magisters don’t care about my work, so I work alone.”_

_“And you want me to help?” Flavia asked._

_“Very much so,” he said._

Calpernia woke with a start, casting the dream/memory from her mind. She got to her feet with a little trouble, and walked outside of the tent. Fenris was still inside his own tent from what she could gather, and the campfire was doused. She hobbled over to the small stack of wood they had collected the previous night and took two of the bigger logs, as well as a pile of papers that Fenris had gathered from his last raid. She set the logs in the firepit, but hesitated when she went to put the papers in for kindling.

The writing on it made her pause, and she sat before the firepit, setting the pages beside her. When Fenris stepped outside his tent she was still reading them, the firepit still cold before her.

“Is something the matter, Vesma?”

Calpernia started at his words, tearing the paper in her hands slightly. She swore under her breath, and set the page down with the others. She looked at the unlit fire and gave him a small shrug.

“I was distracted,” she told him.

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, grabbing the flint and steel to strike up a fire. When he reached for a piece of paper to help the fledgling fire, she knocked his hands away, gathering the papers into her lap and straightening them.

“Is there a reason you aren’t letting me use those as kindling?”

“Do you know what these are?” she asked in return. When he didn’t answer, she continued, “Slave rosters. Trading caravans. Possible areas where slaves could be culled. These could tell you where those slavers are going. Where they will end up.”

“Is that what it says?”

Calpernia nodded earnestly, and was confused when he turned away from her. She stood, clutching the papers to her chest as he walked towards the tree line. With a cry of rage he struck one of the trees, making the bark groan. Calpernia shrunk back, automatically dropping into a curtsy when he turned back and she saw the anger in his face. She cursed her instincts when he froze, and forced herself to stand again. If she clutched the papers tighter to her chest, neither said anything.

“I’m sorry-”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he replied. She fought not to let an inelegant snort escape her, thinking about the past he knew nothing about. “I was angry at myself.”

“The papers could be false,” she said, trying to placate him. “If so, you were right to disregard them.”

“Disregard them?” he said. A pained chuckle left his lips as he strode past her and stoked the fire that had managed to survive without the kindling.

“They aren’t very clear in what they’re talking about,” she said, following him. “Most of these are talking about trail signs. It’s possible that they have them marked in some fashion, but they could be well travelled routes that the slavers know.”

“You are a very odd,” Fenris said, cutting her off. Calpernia huffed and walked to her pack, pulling out a few pieces of dried meat, tossing a few to him. He nodded his thanks, watching as she set the paper down next to her seat.

“It’s practical,” she replied. “And it’s better than just wandering the Waking Sea, hoping to stumble upon a group of them.”

“No, not-” he paused before he said anything. “You’re educated, for a former slave.”

“Magister Erasthenes needed an assistant,” Calpernia said without thinking. She froze after the words left her mouth, but blamed the dream that had woken her. “He taught me.”

“A strange magister.”

“The Magisterium certainly thought so. He always used to complain that they warned off any students that might have sought him out.”

“You cared for him,” Fenris said, looking at her strangely. Calpernia thought on it a moment before nodding.

“He bought me when I was a child,” she told him. “He raised me, in a sense.”

“Why did you run away?”

That startled a laugh out of her. “You think I ran away?”

“You did not?”

The question made her pause with a piece of jerky in her mouth. She ripped it off, chewing for a moment and opened her mouth to answer. She closed it just as quickly, her mind going to Corypheus and the way he had just taken her from Erasthenes.

“Positum magus,” she swore, startling Fenris.

“Mages often do lie,” he agreed. She growled at him, and tossed the remains of the dried meat into the fire.

“He told me I was free,” she hissed. “He told me I was his equal, and I believed him. And he only sought to use me. That darkspawn son of a whore!”

“I’ve used worse curses,” Fenris said, picking up a stick to poke the fire. “And I dare say some of the mages deserved them.”

“How long did he lie?” Calpernia asked aloud, her mind remembering promises Corypheus had made to her. She got to her feet and began pacing before the fire, taking deep breaths to avoid setting anything on fire. If the flames wavered for a moment before she sat again, Fenris paid it no mind.

“I’ve found that mages will lie to accomplish any task they desire,” he told her. Calpernia hunched in on herself, trying to find some way to divert the conversation away from mages.

“Well, I have learned one good thing from mages and magisters,” she said. She held out the pages to demonstrate her point. “Let me repay you by teaching you how to read Tevene. It’s a small thing for my life, but -”

“I accept.”

Calpernia felt her lips curl into a smile. “We can start now, if you’d like?”

* * *

Fenris had begun to respect, if not trust, her. He still refused to let her come along with him when he went out and killed whatever slavers he came across, even though her leg was better and she had been breathing easier. He hadn’t returned with severe injuries when he raided slave camps, although the few that he had she was able to tend to with potions and poultices. He never asked how she knew to make them, and she never volunteered the information. Let him think the magister that had owned her taught her.

“Will you tell me your name?” he asked as she sat down with clean papers. Calpernia raised an eyebrow, handing him one of the quills that he had given her after one of his raids. Neither of them had commented on the blood that had soaked through the satchel and stained the wood a dark brown.

“Does Vesma not work for you?” she replied, sketching out a few words on a clean sheet of paper. She handed it to him, watching as he traced out the letters underneath hers in an unsteady hand.

“I suppose it does,” he said, handing the paper back. She made a few small marks on it, and wrote out a new sentence for him to copy. “But I am correct in assuming that it is not your real name?”

“It describes my fate,” Calpernia told him with a small shrug.

“And I suppose you think Fenris describes mine?”

“Fenris isn’t your name?” she asked. He shook his head, a wry smile crossing his face.

“My former master gave me my name after he branded these,” he held out his arm, letting her see the intricate tattoos, “into my skin. I never knew my name from before until he used my sister to trick me into the open.”

“Your sister was a slave as well?” Calpernia asked. She tapped her quill on a new page, frowning when some ink stained it.

“No,” Fenris said, “and the truth was much more complicated than what I had originally believed. I was given these tattoos at my own behest to free her and my mother.”

Calpernia nodded, sketching a few random lines between the ink spots. “Can you read those sentences out to me?”

“Bless the-” he paused, biting his lip slightly. “Blessed are the peacekeepers?”

“And the next line?”

“I can only assume that it is the next line of the Chant,” Fenris said, handing the page back to her. Calpernia rolled her eyes and shoved it back into his hands.

“Finish the sentence, Fenris.”

“Champions of the just.”

“Good,” Calpernia said, tossing the page she had ruined into the fire with the practice page.

“Annoying is more like it,” Fenris told her. She looked at him askance. “What use are the words of the Chant to me? They won’t help me if I’m reading a slaver’s log.”

“Would you rather have me teach you from those? And have you get annoyed when you have trouble puzzling the sentences together?”

“If it would get you to leave sooner-”

Calpernia stood at his words, dropping the quill and paper onto the ground by his feet. She stalked over to her tent and ducked inside, rolling up her blankets and stuffing them into her satchel. When she exited, Fenris was standing with the writing instruments in his hands. Calpernia walked past him, shrugging his hand off when he tried to grab her arm.

“Wait!” she heard him call as she entered the forest. Calpernia ignored him, shoving past the tree branches and undergrowth. The road wasn’t too far off if her memory served her correctly. If she followed it far enough she might be able to get to a dock that would grant her passage to Tevinter. She had apparently overstayed her welcome in the South.

When she got to the muddy road she turned toward the slope, and what she hoped was the Waking Sea. Without the trees to break the wind, she could smell the salty air. She rubbed her arms as the breeze whistled past her, kicking herself mentally for not grabbing the cloak from her tent. Not that she would have much use for it once she got to Tevinter. If she really got cold she could always drag one of the blankets from her bedroll out and use it as a makeshift cloak.

So wrapped up in her own thoughts, she barely noticed the group of men as she rounded the bend in the hill. She moved to the side of the road to give them a respectful distance, only to notice the chains attached to their wagon.

“Vesma! Down!”

Calpernia dropped, her satchel falling off her shoulder, and felt the swish of air as Fenris’ Blade of Mercy swung over where her head had been to embed itself in the torso of a man who had approached her. She let out a small curse, accepting the hand that Fenris held out to her. He pushed her behind him as he tugged the greatsword out of the man’s chest.

“Tobe!” one of the other men cried. She watched as two of the men pulled out daggers while the third drew his sword. The last reached into the wagon and drew out a staff, which made Fenris let out a low curse.

“Fenris-” she began.

“Run to the tree line,” he told her, his voice low. “I’ll hold them off.”

“You’re insane,” she whispered back, watching as they men began to walk closer. “I can help.”

“Unless you’ve somehow hidden a weapon from me-”

Fenris forced her back again, parrying a strike from one of the slavers. Feeling the Veil warp around them, Calpernia shoved Fenris to the side, throwing herself the opposite way. A column of ice formed where they had been standing, shattering in the next instant, the conjured ice dissipating as it hit the ground.

“Is that all you can do?” Calpernia called to the mage, masking her fear with a mocking tone. For the first time in weeks, she called on her magic, wreathing her hands in flame. She glanced over at Fenris, who was dealing with the others. She flicked her hand towards him, casting a barrier to protect him. He looked up at her as the barrier deflected one of the blades, his eyes narrowing slightly. She stuck her chin out proudly and raised an eyebrow. He gave her a grudging nod before turning back to the two men facing him.

She faced the mage again, a smirk crossing her lips when she saw the way that the swordbearer had hung back, ostensibly to protect the mage. She threw a small fireball at him, watching as he danced backwards to avoid it. While he was off balance, she called lightning and flung it at him, sending him to the ground in a spasming pile. Striding forward, Calpernia watched as the mage struggled to conjure another spell. She felt him cast it, and let the frost wash over her. She called fire to her hands again, and grabbed the man’s face, watching as the skin blackened under her touch. He screamed, and she dropped her hands, watching as he fell to the ground and released his staff, his hands coming up to claw at his face.

“Did you freeze them, I wonder?” she asked, kneeling down beside him and taking his staff into her hands. He only whimpered, and she sneered.

She felt the blood hit her back. Calpernia turned around and watched as the swordbearer fell to his knees, blood spurting from his chest. Fenris watched her as she stood and used the staff as a crutch when her left leg collapsed slightly under her. He looked at the slaver mage who was still making hurt noises by her feet, a curl of disgust on the edge of his lip. Calpernia frowned and called flame to her hand again, letting it get white hot before throwing it at the mage’s head. His whimpers turned into a scream, which cut off before it got too loud.

Fenris said nothing as she walked past him to the slave wagon. She pulled back the waterproofed canvas, and felt the blood drain out of her face. A family of elves and two humans stared back at her, terror in their faces. Calpernia dropped her staff, barely hearing it hit the ground as she entered the wagon. She held her hands up, showing them that she was unarmed, and knelt on the wooden floor to examine the chains that held them. The locks were almost rusted, and the skin on the man’s leg under it had almost been rubbed raw.

“Which of the men has the key,” she asked the man softly, looking into his eyes with what she hoped was a kind expression. His mouth tightened into a grim line and he shook his head.

“We didn’t see them,” his companion said, drawing her attention. “We woke up here with the knife-ears.”

“The man with the sword.”

Calpernia turned towards the elven family, her eyes alighting on the youngest child. The girl gave her a small smile, which Calpernia forced herself to return. The mother gripped the child close as Calpernia shuffled closer to them.

“Which one?”

“I-” the little girl screwed up her face, trying to remember. Her mother ran a hand over her black curls, trying to soothe her.

“Here.”

She turned towards the opening in the canvas. Fenris held it open with one hand, while the other presented a key on a piece of leather to her. Calpernia leaned over and took it from him, and twisted it into the cuff on the little girl’s leg. It sprung open, and Calpernia tried to ignore the small cry of happiness that came from the elvish woman. It was short work to free everyone else, and soon they all stood outside the wagon. Calpernia scavenged around the interior of the wagon and turned up a few papers of interest, as well as a few spare tunics. She drew the bloody one she wore over her head and pulled on one of forest green, lacing the front of it closed. It hung loosely on her, but a belt scavenged from one of the bodies outside would go a long way to fixing that.

The men had already left when she exited the wagon, and she noticed that a sword and a pair of daggers had been stripped from the bodies. Fenris gave her an odd look as she picked up the slaver’s staff, which she ignored in favor of the elven family.

“The wagon is yours, if you want it,” she told them. The elven man sputtered his thanks, his eyes looking warily between the staff in her hand and the burned body of the slaver mage. Within a few minutes the family was off, the wagon trundling down the dirt road.

Calpernia leaned heavily on her new staff as soon as they were out of view, exhaustion from the fight overwhelming her. She forced herself to go over to one of the bodies, flipping it over and stripping the belt from around it’s waist. As she went to stand, exhaustion finally won out, and she almost fell on her face. An arm around her waist halted her movement, and Calpernia watched in amazement as Fenris slung her arm around his shoulder and let her lean on him.

He didn’t say anything as they walked back to their camp. She snuck glances at him, but his face was almost blank. The fire was out, smoke curling up from the pit, and Calpernia noticed the dirt that appeared to have been kicked into it. Stepping away from Fenris, she gestured towards it, twisting the energies of the Fade until a fire sprang into being. Wordlessly, Fenris handed her her satchel. She took it, trying not to focus on the way he held himself tautly when her hand touched his. She opened her tent and placed it inside, before turning back and taking a seat next to the firepit.

“I was going to tell you,” she said, staring into the flames. “I just - you don’t trust mages.”

“That’s fair,” he said, taking a seat a few feet from her. Calpernia drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly.

“I-” she began, then stopped. She looked up through the canopy, noting the red clouds that signaled the coming night, and sighed. “I was scared.”

“Your former master trained you in magic?”

“He was so pleased the day I set the curtains on fire,” Calpernia told him. She looked at him from the corner of her eyes to watch how he reacted. “I thought he might free me, but he just sent me to the rudimentary lessons in Minrathous’ Circle.”

“That magic was anything but simple,” Fenris told her.

“My master, Cory-” she stopped again the words lodging in her throat. She cleared her throat and began again, “My master after Erasthenes was more willing to teach me. I learned more in three years under him than the other twenty-two.”

“This other master,” Fenris said, his eyes searching her face, “he was the one who left you for dead?”

“After he killed everyone else, yes,” she replied.

“And his name is?”

“Not important,” Calpernia said. Fenris looked at her in confusion, and she turned to face him fully. “He’s dead, or as good as.”

“How do you-”

“He had powerful enemies,” she said. She relaxed slightly, letting her legs stretch out in front of her.

“And those enemies?”

Calpernia stiffened, her thoughts turning to the Inquisitor. How she had given her the scroll with the truth of what Corypheus planned for her. And of how she had let her go. The other woman, her enemy on the field, had let her go. Perhaps she expected her to die, but she had acted honorably. Calpernia had never felt anything but respect for her, though she could not say that the other woman felt the same.

“Have little to do with me,” Calpernia said, trying to ease his concerns. He raised an eyebrow, and she looked away into the fire again.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as the shadows lengthened. Calpernia reached towards the fire, calling some of the Fade-born fire to curl around her hand, letting it dance through her fingers like water. It was something she had practiced when she was younger, and  it did much to ease her mind. She heard Fenris’ sharp intake of breath. His mouth was set in a grim line, and she dispelled the flames around her hand without a second thought.

“Does it bother you?” she asked him. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“I have little reason to trust mages,” he told her. He cast his eyes skyward, watching the green lights that had danced across the night sky since the second closing of the Breach. He closed his eyes and relaxed, the lines around his eyes fading. “But there are a few that I would call... friends, I suppose. Even so, they were dangerous.”

“I can leave on the morrow, if you wish,” she said.

“And risk the chance that you would run into another group of slavers?” he said, a trace of humor in his tone. He turned and looked at her, the faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

“You don’t trust mages,” Calpernia told him.

“And why should I?” he shot back. He shook his head and held up a hand, forestalling the argument. “You have given me no reason to doubt you so far.”

“Such a compliment.”

“Have you plans to blow up a religious monument?”

Calpernia bit her lip, thinking back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Corypheus had not expected the explosion, she was certain, and she had no hand in that venture.

“No?” Fenris said, taking her silence as her answer. “Then my opinion of you has not changed.”

“Except now you won’t trust me.”

“I trust you to have my back.”

“You mean that?” Calpernia asked. When he nodded, she smiled. “Then you have my services.”

“Does that still include lessons?” he asked. Calpernia sighed, and nodded, the smile still on her face.

* * *

_It had been a long day, cooped up in the small office that Magister Erasthenes had given her for her own research. But it had payed off, and she had a small scrap of paper that gave proof to a ritual that the priests of Dumat had once performed. While not part of his main research, it could possibly help with his own studies into Tevinter history._

_Flavia rapped shortly on his door before barging in. Only practice honed in the lessons she had taken in the Circle of Minrathous let her raise a barrier in time to stop the flames her master threw at her. Her knees shaking in fear, Flavia knelt before him, her forehead touching the marble inlay of his floor. She tucked the papers close to her chest as she dropped her barriers, prepared for an onslaught of flames._

_Even when none came, she dared not raise her eyes to look at her master. When a hand rested on her head, she felt safe enough to raise her head. Magister Erasthenes’ face was drawn with weariness, and regret lingered in his eyes._

_“Flavia, my dear, I apologize,” he said, giving her his hand to help her up. She took it warily, giving him a short curtsy when she was on her feet again. “I thought you were an assassin from one of my enemies.”_

_“Enemies, master?” Flavia asked. “Should I summon the house guard?”_

_“No, no, they will not come tonight,” he said, waving off her concern. She nodded, moving to hold out the papers she held. In an instant he grabbed her wrists with a grip that belied his years. Flavia dropped the papers, trying not to struggle as he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time._

_“Did they pay you?” he demanded, tugging her closer. Flavia shook her head, ignoring the pain as he gripped her wrists tighter._

_“Master, please,” she begged. “I only came to deliver some good news.”_

_“And bring the news of my death to another?” he asked, tossing her away from him. Flavia slipped on the papers scrambled on the floor, letting out a short cry as she hit the floor._

_“I found something about the ritual for Dumat,” she said, trying to gather the papers from the floor._

_“Get out!” Erasthenes shouted at her. “Count yourself lucky that I don’t kill you for your treachery.”_

_“Master Erasthenes -”_

_“Out!”_

_Gathering the last of her papers, Flavia fled the room. She had seen him in a rage before, but it had never been directed at her before. She resolved to wait a few days, or until he called on her again, and let his anger bleed out._

_Two days later, he killed the kitchen woman. After that, he was as kind to her as ever._

Calpernia woke with a shout on her lips, swinging for the person who was shaking her awake. Fenris caught her hands easily. As she opened her mouth to apologize, he jerkily laid a hand on her hair, and pressed her head against his shoulder. His body was tense as she let him press her against him, but the tears she shed blinded her control, and she wrapped her arms around him.

As she cried, his hands came to rest on her back, rubbing small circles to calm her. Trailing off into hiccups, Calpernia tried to pull away, to salvage any dignity that either of them had in this situation. His arms tightened around her, and she let him hold her, drifting off before she was fully awake again.

The next morning she noticed him looking at her strangely, but paid it no mind.

* * *

In the two weeks since the reveal of her magical abilities, Calpernia and Fenris had travelled closer to the port cities of Orlais. The weather had warmed significantly, and they had found more and more slavers moving their cargo towards the port cities. It was how they found themselves outnumbered fighting a group of slavers a few miles from Lydes.

“Any plans?” Calpernia gasped, casting another barrier around both of them. Fenris shook his head. He was panting, and threw himself in front of her as one of the sellswords tried to take advantage of her inattention. With less grace than he usually showed, Fenris kicked the man in the balls, and while he was doubled over, took off his head.

“I’ve had worse odds,” he said.

“Of course you have,” she replied, throwing a bolt at one of the mages and interrupting his spell, which set the edges of his robes on fire. “But two against eight is not odds that I want to take.”

“Are the slaves out of your line of fire?”

Calpernia grunted an affirmative. The last of the soon-to-be slaves had run off into the fields, outside the realm of the fight. It had given them a chance to fight without worrying about killing the people they were trying to save.

“Can you do anything?”

“I’m almost dry,” she confessed. “I may be able to set one of them on fire, but that would still mean that there are seven to deal with.”

Whatever his response to that would be was cut off by lightning striking one of the swordsmen. He looked at her and she shrugged slightly. A whoop made both of them turn around in time to see a qunari begin to charge towards them. Both of them jumped away as he charged between them, a large two-handed sword in his grip. Calpernia’s eyes narrowed as she took in the others who were entering the fight.

The person who caught her eye was the blonde woman wielding a halberd who engaged with a woman wielding a bow at her back. Two mages backed them up, guarded by a Nevarran. Calpernia’s evaluation of them was cut off as one of the dagger wielding slavers slide between her and Fenris. His daggers deflected off of her staff as she twisted it up and sliced him from navel to neck. Fenris finished the dying man off, chopping off his head.

Wiping the sweat off her brow, Calpernia backed off to the edge of the fight, closer to the fields. It was over in seconds with the fresh Inquisition soldiers. Fenris sheathed his sword across his back as the Inquisition soldiers finished off the dying men.

“Good fight,” the qunari said, leaning his sword against his shoulder. “You’re pretty good with that sword, elf.”

“Well, Broody has always needed to compensate for his lacking personality.”

Fenris snorted, and Calpernia watched as a dwarf with a crossbow swaggered over to her companion. “And what excuse do you have for your awful writing, Varric?”

“That hurts, Fenris. And here I thought you didn’t read them.”

Calpernia moved back from the group that was crowding around Fenris, trying to keep on the edges of the Inquisition’s sight. As she scooted back towards the treeline, a hand fell on her arm. She looked up to see a young man looking at her from under the brim of his hat, a confused look on his face.

“You’re scared,” he said. Calpernia shook her head and took her arm out of his grasp. His blue eyes watched her with an inhuman accuracy, and he continued, “They’ll tell him the truth and he’ll hate you. Everything goes wrong like with Corypheus, lying to me, lying about everything.”

Calpernia barely noticed that the Inquisition forces were looking at her now. She let her staff fall from her hand as the young man came into her personal space again, and stepped closer towards the fields, an itch to run in her feet.

“Wrong, wrong, should have run, must run,” he said. He tilted his head slightly and shook it.

“That’s enough, Cole,” the Inquisitor’s voice rang out. The man, Cole, stepped away from her, and Calpernia looked up to see the Inquisitor stepping out of the crowd towards her. The rest of the Inquisition’s faces were stony. In the middle of them she could see Fenris looking at her with some confusion, even as the dwarf’s, Varric’s, mouth moved with words too quiet for her to hear. She could see the instant Fenris understood, the way his face shut down and his eyes slid past her.

“Inquisitor,” Calpernia said.

“Calpernia,” the other woman greeted her. “It is a surprise to meet you on the field of battle again.”

“And on the same side,” one of her companions said, a trace of a Tevinter accent in his words. “Whatever is the world coming to?”

“I would have thought you had returned to Tevinter by now,” the Inquisitor said.

“Corypheus injured me,” Calpernia told her. “Fenris gave me shelter and safety until I was healed. In return, I have aided him these past few months.”

“Broody allied with a mage?” Varric commented. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Calpernia forced herself to keep her eyes on the Inquisitor, rather than look at her travelling companion. The Inquisitor was looking at her strangely, and Calpernia straightened, keeping her eyes level with the other woman’s.

“Aiding him in killing slavers?” the Inquisitor asked. Calpernia nodded. The Inquisitor sighed, a hand coming up to run through her hair. She grimaced and looked over her shoulder at the people with her before returning her gaze to Calpernia.

“She obviously didn’t keep her promise to leave,” a dark-haired Nevarran woman said. “Don’t tell me you’re going to let her go again.”

“I-” The Inquisitor sighed, planting the base of her halberd on the ground. “I can’t make that decision right now,” she said, looking at Calpernia with tired eyes. A few discontented grumbles made her wince and she drew in a deep breath. “You will accompany us to Skyhold,” she told Calpernia.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Calpernia asked.

“Could put an arrow through your eye,” an elven woman said.

Calpernia shook her head, her shoulders slumping. She held out her hands, which seemed to surprise the Inquisitor. The blonde woman took a leather tie from a belt pouch, tying it around Calpernia’s wrists before bending and taking her staff from the ground. She gestured for Calpernia to walk in front of her, and the rest of the Inquisition took the lead back to their camp.

Fenris didn’t look back at her.

* * *

The rope chafed her wrists slightly, but Calpernia didn’t make her discomfort known. About an hour after she had taken a seat where the Inquisitor left her in the middle of the camp an Inquisition soldier had dropped off her satchel, informing her that it had been searched. She hadn’t said anything, only stared at the man until he walked away. It had been awkward to open her pack and take out her bedroll, but she had managed it, and now sat on the leather padding while staring into the fire.

She had seen a glimpse of Fenris while she had been setting up her bedroll. He had been staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She had turned away instead of staring back at him. A rotating guard of the Inquisitor’s companions had been keeping guard over her. She understood that the other woman had to keep up appearances, but Calpernia wasn’t going to run.

Her current guard was the Tevinter mage, who stared at her as if she was an interesting piece of dung on the edge of his cloak. The intensity of his gaze made her skin prickle.

“Is there something you want, Altus?” she asked in Tevene. He raised a manicured eyebrow at the breaking of her silence.

“How do you know I am an Altus?” he responded. Calpernia rolled her eyes at the response.

“You were Magister Alexius’ pupil. He never would have taken a Laetan.”

The Altus’ eyes narrowed at the mention of his former mentor. He quickly wiped the expression off of his face, replacing it with an easy smile. “Dorian Pavus,” he said, “Altus of House Pavus.”

“I know,” she said. “You were at Redcliffe.”

“And how would you know that?” he asked. “I wasn’t aware you gained control of the mages until they marched out of that village.”

“I served under Magister Alexius,” she told him. Dorian chuckled darkly.

“And have you betrayed every master you served under, I wonder?” he asked. Calpernia bristled.

“I was never his slave,” she spat.

“And yet you betrayed him,” the mage shot back.

“He betrayed us before I ever thought to!”

“Is that why you killed him?” Dorian said. A feeling like ice ran down her back at the altus’ tone. It was similar to what she had overheard from other masters before they beat their slaves. Her eyes went to her bound wrists, and then back to the other mage.

“Do you want to hear how he died?” she asked, putting as much venom in her voice as she could. Dorian shrunk back, seemingly surprised by her response. “Or maybe you were more concerned with his son? The slaves had all sorts of rumors about his sneaking around to see you. Did I kill your-”

When he stood, Calpernia braced herself, anticipating his strike. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes to see the mage’s hand held in the large grasp of the qunari swordsman. She breathed out slowly, watching as the two men had a silent conversation before Dorian stormed off. The qunari took the seat he had vacated, his one eye pinning Calpernia as surely as the leather on her wrists bound her.

“You provoked him,” the qunari said. Calpernia didn’t answer him, her eyes sliding over his shoulder to the tent behind him. He groaned and leaned forward, a hand coming up to rest against his face as he braced his elbow on his knee.

“You wanna talk about it?”

That startled a snort out of her. “I have nothing to say to you, qunari,” she said in an attempt to cover her mistake.

“The Iron Bull,” he said. “And I think I need to understand it.”

“What about it? I killed the father and the son. End of story,” she told him, shifting uncomfortably on her bedroll.

“There’s more to it than that,” Iron Bull said, his eye narrowing. “You told Dorian that he betrayed you.”

“He lied to us,” Calpernia said, then almost bit her tongue as she realized what she had revealed. She sighed, knowing that the qunari was not going to let it go once she had given him that little bit of information. “He had no intention of handing the mages over to my control. He was more concerned with trying to save his son.”

“Felix, right?” Iron Bull said. Calpernia nodded, her eyes sliding to the right. “Dorian said he was sick. Some sort of incurable disease?”

“Is that what he said?” Calpernia asked, letting out a chuckle. “The man was blighted. His father refused to let him die with dignity, forcing him to stay alive in the hopes of finding a cure that doesn’t exist.”

The qunari nodded, the exact opposite of the reaction she expected him to have. “How’d he die?”

Calpernia wet her lips and closed her eyes. “Peacefully,” she told him. “I had been in Magister Alexius’ household for a few weeks. He took a tea with a sleeping draught in it every night. I added more than he usually took, and when he slept I slit his throat. He never felt a thing.”

“And the father?”

“He had some sort of warding on his son. He knew when the boy died, and came down to the living quarters to find me with the body. He-” Calpernia stumbled over her words, taking a deep breath. “He let himself be possessed by a demon of rage. I slew it.”

“Damn.”

“Let him hate me,” she said, opening her eyes. “I did what was right.”

“He allowed himself to be possessed?”

Calpernia’s eyes snapped to the mage who must have crept back after the qunari sent him away. She nodded stiffly, watching as his face crumpled slightly in grief. The qunari got to his feet, tugging the other man into a one armed embrace. Without looking back at her, he herded the mage away, leaving Calpernia alone before the fire. After a few minutes she shifted onto her side, drawing a blanket over her body, and closed her eyes, surrendering to whatever dreams the Fade would give her.

* * *

_The message that had appeared on her desk earlier that day had requested that she meet the sender after dark in the stables. She had debated telling Erasthenes of the note, but he had sequestered himself in his study, as he had been doing more and more lately. Few dared to interrupt him there after one of the kitchen slaves had been burned so badly that it had taken all of Auntie’s skill with herbs and potions to keep him alive._

_So she left the house dressed in one of the better cloaks that Erasthenes had given her after another “accident” had injured her. Unlike the kitchen slave, he had sent for a healer, who had healed the broken bone within minutes. He had been apologetic, worrying over her for the next three days until he locked himself in his study again, emerging a few days later with theories about the Old Gods that sounded outrageous, even to her, his most dedicated assistant._

_The night was cool, and Flavia blew into her hands to warm them as she stood in the lantern light outside the stables. She could hear a few of his prized horses inside, pawing at the straw at the bottom of their stalls. A cold wind blew through the courtyard, making the flame flicker. Without a second thought, Flavia strengthened the flame, making sure that it did not go out. As she turned to look out over the dark courtyard, she caught sight of him._

_He was tall, easily towering over her by several feet. As he stepped forward, closer to the light, she saw the light glance across the black stone embedded in his face. She took a few steps back, but before she could raise her voice to call for help, he spoke._

_“You are the slave of Erasthenes?” he asked with a voice like flames curling against wood. Flavia found herself nodding, even as he took another step forward._

_“Who are you?” she asked. His black, beady eyes focused on her, something dark flashing in them as he considered her._

_“I am Corypheus,” he said. “High Priest of Dumat and Magister of Tevinter.”_

_Flavia looked away, her mind racing as she pieced together what he had put before her. She let out a gasp, feeling as if someone had punched her in the gut. She looked back up at him, her eyes roving over his features._

_“From before the Blights,” she whispered, almost to herself. Shaking herself to gain some measure of semblance back, she addressed him, “But, how?”_

_“Centuries ago, my brethren and I journeyed into the Fade, seeking our gods,” he said. “We found nothing but emptiness and encroaching darkness.”_

_“Then what the Chantry teaches is true?” she asked. Corypheus was silent, so she continued, “The magisters who breached into the Fade were not the cause of the Blights? The Maker surely would-”_

_“The heavens were empty.”_

_It felt as if the world had dropped out from under her. The priests of the Imperial Chantry had always taught that the Maker listened to their prayers. If what was being told to her was true, then no one had ever heard the prayers of a young girl who had prayed for freedom. Despair began to pool in her stomach, and she looked into the magister’s face, looking for any sign of a lie. She found none._

_“Then what else have we been lied to about?” she whispered, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes._

_“So you see past the lies of this Chantry,” Corypheus said. “You see how they have betrayed the Imperium.”_

_“Why did you ask to see me?” Flavia asked him. “I am a slave. There is nothing I could do to change any of this.”_

_“When I walked the Fade I heard your cries in your dreams.”_

_“You heard me?”_

_The edges of his face, though deformed, tilted up in the mockery of a smile. “I heard you,” he assured her. “And I knew that you would be the one who would help me lead Tevinter into a new age.”_

_“A new age?”_

_“What can be changed in this faded Tevinter? With a new god in the heavens, one who knows what is needed to restore it to it’s former glory, do you doubt that changes will not be made?”_

_Flavia took a deep breath, her heart racing as she considered what he was saying. She found herself nodding, a sense of elation as she envisioned a new Tevinter, one without the corruption of slavery and the oppression of the Magisterium._

_“What must I do to help?” she asked, her voice betraying her eagerness. Corypheus’ twisted smile grew, if it were even possible._

_“Kneel,” he said._

_She dropped her her knees, her cloak billowing around her on the cobblestones. Flavia barely felt the cold that seeped through her trousers as she looked up at him. His clawed hand came to rest on her head and she shivered as the tips brushed the nape of her neck._

_“Swear your fealty to the Elder One.”_

_“I swear it.”_

_“Cast away all of your old titles. Swear to help achieve the goals of Corypheus.”_

_“I do swear,” she promised fervently._

_“Then rise as Calpernia, sworn of the Elder One,” Corypheus said._

_Calpernia stood, meeting his eyes and feeling free for the first time since she was a child. He looked upon her with a steady gaze, and she felt the full might of his gaze for the first time._

_“What would you have of me?”_

_“Return to Erasthenes for the night,” he instructed her. “On the morrow night I will come for you. Gather anything that can be of use to us.”_

_“It will be done as you command,” she said, dropping into a curtsy. By the time she rose he was gone._

_Calpernia walked back to the main house, sneaking in through the kitchen. Instead of heading for her bed, she went to Erasthenes’ study, knocking on the door shortly to inform him that she was entering._

_“Light a lamp, would you, Flavia?” her former master asked. “Everything’s so dark.”_

* * *

The Inquisitor and what her inner circle set off early the next morning with Calpernia and Fenris in tow. Fenris was still avoiding her, talking instead to the qunari who had gotten the truth of what happened in Redcliffe from her the night before. She felt their eyes on her a few times, but focused on keeping her eyes in front of her and steadfastly ignoring everyone around her. It was harder than she thought with the way that all of them jabbered to each other. The Nevarran, who she gathered was called Cassandra, kept close to her at all times, her hand on her sword.

Two days passed in such a manner. On the third day Calpernia awoke with a feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach, something that didn’t appear to be shared by her captors. As the morning passed she managed to work her way closer to Fenris, knowing that she had to warn him. He and the Bull were deep in conversation, but both stopped as she drew up next to them.

“Fenris, something’s wrong,” she said. His face, which had been impassive, morphed into a questioning look. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she told him, “but something’s not right.”

“You trust her?” Bull asked him. Fenris considered her a moment, before inclining his head slightly.

“In this, at least.”

Calpernia tried not to let it show how much the words hurt her. Bull looked between the two of them, looking as if something was adding up in his head, but before he could say anything and arrow struck the dirt in front of them. Without thinking, Calpernia reached for her magic and cast a barrier over everyone in her vicinity. The effort made her gasp for air, but they paid off when an arrow heading for Fenris bounced off the barrier.

“Stay,” Bull said, drawing his sword. Calpernia swayed in place, struggling to keep up the barriers as more arrows thudded against them. Fenris watched her for a moment, before coming over and letting her lean on him. He shuffled both of them towards the center of the group, his sword held at guard in front of them.

Her energy gave out once she was in the center of the group, and she let the barrier dissipate. The clash of steel made her look up to see Fenris fighting off a man dressed in the colors of the Venatori. Before she could say anything, he disarmed the man and cut off his head.

“Venatori!” Cassandra called.

“What, they want Corypheus’ pet?” Dorian sniped, lightning sparking from his staff. Calpernia knelt next to the fallen Venatori, using his sword to slice through the leather ties that bound her. She flexed her wrists before calling flame to her hands. Seeing an archer just outside of Fenris’ view, she threw flame at him, ignoring the flash of guilt that flew through her at his death.

“It appears that they are not hers,” the female mage said.

“The Venatori are mine,” she whispered to herself, forcing herself to her feet. She staggered slightly, and moved past the Nevarran woman as she thrust her sword through a Venatori swordsman.

“Venatori!” she called out, straining to make her voice heard. A few of them stopped their charge towards the ranks of the Inquisition to stare at her. To her surprise, the Inquisitor and her people did not press the advantage, hanging back with their weapons at the ready.

“Calpernia?” one of the swordsmen asked, pulling off his helmet.

“Brutus,” Calpernia said, surprise creeping into her voice. His eyes narrowed as he looked behind her at the Inquisition. “Lay down your weapons. Please.”

“He said that you betrayed us,” Brutus told her, his lips twisting in disgust. “He said you slaughtered your guard and tried to kill him. You betrayed the Elder One.”

“I didn’t,” Calpernia tried to defend herself. Brutus slashed through the air with his sword, cutting off whatever she might have said.

“You’re with them,” he said, thrusting his sword forward to point that the Inquisitor and her companions. “Tell me how you haven’t betrayed us when you walk with them.”

“Brutus, he lied to me. To all of us.”

“And yet I don’t believe you.”

“Inquisitor!”

Calpernia turned her head at the woman’s shout. The dark woman was leaning on her staff, and collapsed forward as she watched. As if it set off a row of dominoes, the rest of the Inquisition fell to the ground. Fenris and the qunari held it off the longest, but collapsed to their knees before falling on their faces.

Calpernia turned slightly, catching sight of a mage casting a few meters from her. She snarled, calling flames to her hands. As she turned to cast them, Brutus rushed towards her, his gauntleted hand whipping out to hit her. The blow stunned her, leaving her with no defense as the pommel of his sword struck her head.

* * *

Cold water brought her back to consciousness. Calpernia gasped and then coughed, trying to clear the water that had slid down her throat. She tugged at her hands, and found them bound behind her back to some sort of wooden pole. Her head collapsed forward, her chin almost hitting her chest as she spat out the last of the water that had clogged her throat.

A hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head up again. Calpernia hissed at the stinging sensation, but met the the eyes of the man that held her. Brutus looked at her, a sneer of contempt on his face. Before she could get a question out, he buried his fist in her gut, driving the air from her body.

“You had to know that the Venatori wouldn’t let you get away with betraying us.”

Calpernia shook her head in denial of his claims. She tried to get enough air to respond, but only managed a strangled sound. This seemed to make Brutus even angrier, his armored foot coming up and slamming into her chest. Her head snapped back, cracking onto the wooden beam that he had secured her to. She leaned against it, drawing in a ragged breath.

“I never betrayed any of you,” she said. Brutus snorted, his hand whipping out and striking her jaw. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit her tongue. The same hand came up and grasped her chin, forcing her to look into Brutus’ eyes.

“You’re working with an altus, Calpernia,” he whispered. “The people that would keep us chained. You think we’d ever believe you, knowing that?”

Calpernia pursed her lips, trying to deny what he said, only to spit blood on Brutus’ outfit when he slammed his gauntleted fist into her chest again. In one clear instance of pain, Calpernia felt something in her chest move and break, cracking off and ramming into something else. Brutus gave her a vicious grin, and did it again. A cry of pain left her lips, and a spattering of blood coated Brutus’ face.

“Brutus,” another soldier said. Brutus looked at him, letting Calpernia slump forward in her bonds. “The Inquisitor and her people are waking up.”

“I see,” Brutus said, getting to his feet.

He looked at Calpernia, and drew a knife from his belt. Calpernia closed her eyes, waiting for him to draw it across her throat. When the ropes binding her to the wooden beam gave way, she had no way of stopping her forward motion, and fell. The impact jarred whatever Brutus had broken in her chest, and she gasped for air.

“Help me take her to them. She’ll be as good a warning for what will happen if any of them cross us.”

They both grabbed one of her arms and dragged her from whatever room she had been in. She kept her eyes focused on the ground, sneaking glances at the rocks that made up the walls, ceiling, and floor of where they were. Brutus dropped her arm after a few minutes, drawing a key from his belt and inserting it into what she could see was a hastily constructed door. Swinging it open, he gestured for the other Venatori to move her inside.

The Inquisitor and her people were chained with their hands above their heads. The chains themselves were bolted into the rock walls. As the Venatori soldier dragged her towards the end of the room, they looked at her, confusion evident on a few faces. He placed her next to the straw haired boy who had told the Inquisition who she was. He flinched away from her, making her wonder what kind of sight she was presenting.

“That’s what happens if anyone tries anything,” Brutus said, before he closed the door on them.

“It’s a ploy,” the dark woman said when Calpernia raised her head to look at them. “The Venatori wouldn’t dare harm their leader.

“Are you all right?”

Calpernia looked down the line to see Fenris. He had stretched forward as far as his chains would allow to look at her. She didn’t respond, leaning back and resting her head against the rock wall. When she tried to sit up straighter the boy next to her shivered, even as she stopped herself from making any noise of pain.

“Unless they turned on her,” Dorian said. “It wouldn’t be the first time one of these groups self-destructed. Usually it just happens in Tevinter, and we clean it up without you southerners knowing any better.”

“The more important question is how we get out of here,” Varric replied. He rattled the chains above his head to emphasize his point. “Unless this ends up being like one of my stories, but I don’t see a qunari spy coming any time to rescue us.”

“They’d probably just kill us anyway for sinking that dreadnought,” the Nevarran said.

“I’m open for suggestions,” the Inquisitor said.

“Inquisitor,” Calpernia said, swallowing down the blood that hadn’t left her mouth, “I can get you out of here.”

“Oh, yes, listen to one of our enemies,” Dorian said sarcastically.

“What do you have in mind,” the Inquisitor asked. When the other members of her group looked at her as if she was insane, she sighed, “Does anyone else have a plan to get out of here? No? Then let her talk.”

“I can summon a demon,” Calpernia explained. A few of the others raised their voices, but with a look from the Inquisitor they quieted. “If I bind it to myself, I should be able to break my chains and yours. Then I’ll buy you some time to escape.”

“You’ll become an abomination.”

Calpernia turned to look at Fenris, her lips curling up and exposing her bloody teeth. “I won’t survive this anyway,” she said, taking a wet sounding breath and coughing again. The qunari looked at her, his eyes tracking down her chest and watching as she labored to breathe.

Fenris leaned his head against the cave wall and swore. Calpernia chuckled softly, cutting off into a cough, blood spattering down her chin.

“I’m dead either way,” she said. Fenris rattled his chains. Varric seemed to look at him strangely, his eyes widening as he seemed to understand something that Calpernia did not.

“I will not allow you,” Fenris said, shutting his eyes. The visible tattoos on his body began to glow, and with a primal yell he yanked his arms forward. His wrists, instead of impacting the metal, appeared to phase through it, and he collapsed forward. He took a few deep breaths then pushed to his feet.

“Lockpicks in my collar,” Varric said when Fenris looked at him. Varric let out an annoyed huff when Fenris tore the stitching and removed the picks. He made short work of the dwarf’s cuffs, handing the picks to him when he was done.

Calpernia watched him with half-closed eyes, noticing when his head cocked to the side as if he was hearing something. He walked towards the door, as she closed them fully. The next instant she felt someone shaking her, and she opened her eyes a little bit to see concerned green ones.

“Get over here,” he snarled over his shoulder at someone she couldn’t see. She closed her eyes again, feeling a warmness suffuse her limbs.

* * *

She had been laying in the cell for the better half of two days, waiting for the Inquisitor to decide what to do with her. A different guard had come with every meal, leaving it in her cell. It had been easy to identify them as southern Templars, even in the plain clothing they were wearing. Calpernia had picked at the food, but left most of it on the trays. The Templars had taken away the half-eaten food and replaced it like clockwork.

“Yes, yes, I know you don’t want me here,” a man’s voice said. There was a pause, like the person he was conversing with responded. “But the Inquisitor gave us shelter. How about you just ignore me? It worked well enough for you before.”

The door to the dungeons shut, and the man grumbled something that was inaudible over the waterfall. She turned on her side to see who was approaching her cell. To her surprise, a mage stood outside, a staff in the crook of his arm as he tried to open the door.

“The other way,” she said. The lock clicked as he turned the key in the opposite direction, and he opened the cell door.

“You’re awake. That’s good.”

“Yes, I imagine it would be hard to judge a corpse,” she replied. The man chuckled as if she had made a joke.

“I’m sure the Inquisitor would find a way,” he said, stepping closer to her. Calpernia sat up, her eyes glancing warily at the staff in his hand.

“And who are you? You’re not one of the Templars.”

“I certainly hope not.”

Calpernia suppressed a shiver at the sliver of otherworldly blue that flashed across his eyes at the mention of Templars. His statement, although cheerful, had a sliver of ice in it, one that she realized that she didn’t want to touch.

“Why are you here, then?”

“Inquisitor Trevelyan wanted to make sure you were in good health. Apparently they’re going to try you later today. And the mages here are a little wary of you, so my wife volunteered my services.”

“You’re a healer?”

“Among other things,” he said, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. “You traveled with Fenris, I heard. Did he not mention me?”

“He only said he had mages who were friends,” Calpernia told him. “We didn’t pry into each other’s business.”

“Ah,” the mage said. “My name is Anders.”

“The Champion’s Anders? The one who -”

“Yes, that one,” he replied. He raised his hands, blue light shimmering between them. Calpernia held still as he ran it over her. He lingered on her chest, and she felt a slight heat build before it dissipated. The feeling repeated itself in her bad leg, and when Anders held a hand out to help her stand, she did it without a hint of lingering pain or stiffness.

“She wants her people well before she executes them?” Calpernia asked, taking a seat on her cot again. Anders laughed.

“I can see why Fenris liked traveling with you,” he said. “You share the same fatalistic sense of humor.”

“Perhaps,” she replied. When he went to leave, she spoke up again. “Can you give him a message from me?”

“Depends on the message, but I can try. He and I aren’t really on the best terms, generally speaking.”

“Tell him I’m sorry. And thank you.”

“No anguished declarations of love?”

That startled a chuckle out of her. “Why would I do that?”

Anders looked at her strangely, then shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing, I suppose. I’ll let the Inquisitor know you’re well enough for trial.”

She watched as he left the cell, turning the key to lock it behind him. He paused a few feet from it, his shoulders straightening.

“I’ll tell him for you,” he said. With that he walked out of the dungeons, his staff tapping against the floor until the door closed behind him.

* * *

The crowd in the main hall of the Inquisitor’s keep was larger than Calpernia expected. A few of the people without the ridiculous Orlesian masks sneered at her. She held her head high, meeting the eyes of the Inquisitor as she sat on her throne. The Templars on either side of her, pulled her to a stop, making the chains around her wrists jangle.

“Calpernia,” the Inquisitor said, stopping an Antivan woman before she could speak. Calpernia inclined her head slightly. “You stand accused of aiding Corypheus, a darkspawn who claimed to be a god.”

“We both know I was little more than a pawn to him, Inquisitor,” Calpernia said. “A convenient slave to be twisted and pulled to suit his whims. Kill me if you must. Complete what he could not.”

“We both know that would be a waste,” the Inquisitor said. Calpernia kept her face blank even as she realized that the Inquisitor had maneuvered her to a position that served them both. “Josephine,” she addressed the Antivan woman, “do you have the paper?”

“Yes, your Worship,” Josephine said, drawing it out from a pile of paper. “It was found in Magister Erasthenes’ study by one of our Tevinter allies. They were happy to send it to us.”

Calpernia drew in a sharp breath as she realized what the Antivan woman held. Her eyes went to the Inquisitor’s face, but the other woman only had an enigmatic smile on her face.

“Are you aware of the rules for freeing slaves in the Tevinter Imperium, Josephine?”

“The slave must be brought before a magistrate with their papers of ownership and their master,” Josephine said. “Or the slaves are freed upon the death of the master, depending on the contents of their will.”

“And if the master is dead without specification of what is to happen to the slaves?”

“It is a grey area, Your Worship. A few slaves have pleaded their cases before magistrates and been granted their freedom, while others have not.”

“Would they recognize the Inquisition if we made such a decision?” the Inquisitor asked. Calpernia felt her heart leap in her throat, unable to stop a tear that slid down her face.

“I believe they would.”

“Then, Calpernia, I formally release you from your bonds of slavery,” she decreed. Calpernia let out a deep breath that she had not been aware she was holding. “Since you were a slave to Corypheus, and therefore bound to his orders, we cannot judge you for his crimes.”

Calpernia looked at the Inquisitor in wonder. The woman had been able to find a loophole that she doubted anyone else would have thought of. The Templars removed the chains from her wrists, and the Antivan woman stepped forward, handing her the paper that been held over her ever since she was a child. Calpernia took it with a murmur of thanks, her eyes wandering over a piece of paper that she had never before seen. As the court behind her muttered to each other, Calpernia dropped into a deep curtsy.

“As a free woman,” Calpernia said, lifting her eyes to the Inquisitor’s, “what may I do to serve the organization who gave it to me?”

“It has come to my attention that you have worked towards halting Tevinter slavers with another for the last few months?” the Inquisitor asked. Calpernia nodded. “Then if the other party is amenable, we would ask that you continue in doing this, with the backing of the Inquisition.”

“As you say, Your Worship,” Calpernia said, rising.

“I may recommend hurrying,” the Inquisitor said, mirth creeping into her voice. “I believe he’s leaving soon.”

* * *

It had been the work of a few minutes for her to retrieve her satchel and staff from the guard in charge of the cells. She ran up the stairs and back into the fresh air, sprinting to the main gate of the keep. Calpernia saw Fenris’ white hair, and sped up, determined to catch him. He saw her as she crossed the courtyard, confusion evident. There was a woman next to him, the mage Anders leaning on her as she conversed with the elf. She watched as the woman, Hawke, leaned back and said something to her husband, making both of them break out into giggles.

“Fenris,” she said, jogging up next to him.

What are you doing?” he asked, instead of greeting her.

“The Inquisitor asks if you would be inclined to accept a partner back in your work.”

A few emotions passed over Fenris’ face, and finally settled with a raised eyebrow. “Really? I hope the Inquisitor realizes that I don’t work for her.”

“Does that mean you refuse?” Calpernia asked, her face falling slightly. The corners of his mouth twitched up, and she realized that he was playing with her.

“I suppose having the official support of the Inquisition would be useful,” he agreed. “May I know the name of my companion?”

She opened her mouth to answer but stopped. A name came to her mind, of a woman who had cared for her while she was a child, newly sold into slavery; who died four years ago as a kitchen slave.

“Renata,” she said. “My name is Renata.”

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Tea available here - http://affectionatetea.co.vu/post/119635221511


End file.
